


Catalyst

by Star_Going_Supernova



Category: Bendy and the Ink Machine
Genre: Alternate Universe, Dad!Henry (Bendy and the Ink Machine), Epilogue, Fluff, Gen, Happy Ending, Henry is tired and covered in ink and wants to go home, Joey inadvertently prepared Henry to be a dad, Post Game, i guess?, if that means bringing a bunch of toons with him, so be it, with a technically
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-16
Updated: 2017-11-16
Packaged: 2019-02-03 07:22:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12743676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Star_Going_Supernova/pseuds/Star_Going_Supernova
Summary: A lovely reader named Rinne said in their comment for A Creator’s Heart:The title of the next chapter better be “Tired Old Man Meets Conflicted Creations: Adopts Immediately; New Family Is Still Tired And Conflicted, But Cautiously Hopeful.”Well, Rinne, I decided I loved that title enough to write a whole separate fic for it. This is that fic.





	Catalyst

**Author's Note:**

> I had far too much fun writing this. It’s so far beyond the game that it’s borderline ridiculous and I love it. Hope you guys enjoy!

“That. Is. _It!_ ” Henry stopped dead in the hallway, his aching joints protesting the sudden ceasing of movement. He threw his axe down to the floor with a clatter and spun on his heel, wasting no time in stomping back the way he’d come from— straight towards the towering form of Bendy himself. 

The demon, having frozen in his tracks at Henry’s outburst, stared at him despite his lack of eyes. 

“I am _far_ too old for this nonsense,” Henry raged quietly. He pointed up. “Go scrape Sammy off whatever wall you smashed him into, I’m getting Norman and Alice. And if you run into any of the Butcher gang, bring them as well.”

Bendy watched as Henry got closer. His head turned side to side, as though trying to find someone just as lost with this turn of events as he was. 

Henry paused and planted his feet wide, hands on his hips. Without much thought, he pulled the Dad Look— despite never having children of his own, he’d used that particular expression on Joey often (successfully, he might add). Bendy stepped backwards, growling softly. 

It wasn’t a menacing sound, though. To Henry, it was uncertain and confused, clear as day. 

Softening his harsh expression, Henry said, “Look. I’m tired, I’m hungry, and I’m simply too old to go running through a drafty studio covered in cold ink. I’m unhappy being here, _you’re_ clearly unhappy being here, so we’re leaving. We’re going home.” 

Bendy made a startled noise. 

“Yes, home. Now, we’re lucky I drove my van, or we would probably need to make several trips. So shoo. Go get whoever you can find that wants to leave.” 

At the command, Bendy skittered backwards a couple feet, making sure to continue facing Henry. 

He raised an eyebrow. “Well, go on. The sooner we get everyone together, the sooner we can get out of here.” 

Slowly, perhaps expecting a trick, Bendy turned away, glancing back at the man a few times before loping off.  
  
With a satisfied nod, Henry headed towards the nearest elevator access point. Boris was waiting for him, bone still secured in his jaw. He tilted his head in silence as Henry selected the Level 14 button. 

“We’ll pick up Norman, and then Alice, and then we’re getting out of here,” Henry explained. He smiled and patted the toon’s shoulder when Boris’s eyes went wide and his knees knocked together. “It’ll be fine, you’ll see.”

Completely unarmed, Henry descended the stairs into the most ridiculously flooded area of the studio. Rather than try to hunt Norman down in the maze, he merely waited between the exits. As Alice had pointed out earlier, the Projectionist’s path would bring him through here sooner or later. It was simply a matter of being patient. 

When the Projectionist’s light fell upon his form, Henry’s head was facing the other direction. He turned to watch Norman charge at him, screeching. 

“That’s quite enough,” Henry said, tapping the speaker sunk into his old friend’s chest before Norman could strike him. 

Like Bendy had, Norman’s entire body froze. His projector-head tilted, the light fairly blinding Henry. 

“There’s no need for that, my friend. We’re going home, and I won’t have any of you toons being unnecessarily violent.” Henry turned to head back to the lift, gesturing for Norman to follow. “C’mon.”

The sound of ink sloshing behind him— slowly at first, but then faster as Norman hurried to catch up— brought a smile to Henry’s face. 

Boris cowered slightly when the looming form of the Projectionist trailed into the lift, but he relaxed once it became clear that there wasn’t any danger. 

They rode up in silence, Henry rocking back and forth on his heels. When he left the elevator on the ninth floor to speak with Alice, he went alone. 

He knocked on the metal doors beneath the **She’s Quite a Gal!** sign.

The speakers above him crackled to life. “What? Don’t tell me you—”

“We’re going home,” Henry interrupted her, smiling pleasantly. “Would you like to come?” 

There was a long pause. When Alice spoke again, Susie’s voice was more predominant. “What?” she asked, sounding much less hostile than the first time.

“I’m leaving, and anyone who wants to come with me is welcome to.” He jabbed his thumb over his shoulder. “I’ve got Boris and Norman with me, and I sent Bendy to pick up Sammy and any Butcher gang members he came across.”

“You—! You can’t just do that!”

“Why not?” Henry asked. 

Alice didn’t answer right away. Instead, the speakers shut off entirely, but Henry waited. He counted to sixteen animators— a running joke from the old days that never really stopped— before the doors creaked open, revealing Alice Angel in all her corrupted glory.

She blinked at him, the sides of her dress tightly clenched in her fists. Henry held out his hand to her.

After a moment of hesitation, Alice took it, and allowed Henry to lead her back to the elevator. 

Once she was settled between Boris and Norman, the latter of whom kindly patted her shoulder when he saw her wide eyes, Henry sent the lift as high as it would go. 

Like ducklings, the three toons trailed after him as he headed up the last few flights of stairs, mercifully Searcher-less. 

Hmm. The Searchers. Henry tried to think of a way to save them, too, but… they weren’t really properly alive, were they? Besides, they spawned directly from the Ink Machine’s ink, and he couldn’t very well bring an entire studio’s worth of the stuff home with him. Better to shut the Machine down and hope it gave those lost souls the peace and rest they deserved. 

So caught up in his thoughts, Henry didn’t notice anything was wrong until Alice gasped and Norman screeched something awful. He looked up to see the wooden walls covered in Bendy’s signature inky shadows, indicating his approach. In fact, they all watched as he turned a corner up ahead.

Edgar and Barley limp-hopped in front of Bendy, Charley lagging behind slightly from his plunger peg-leg. Being dragged along on the floor behind the demon was Sammy, one of his overall straps held in Bendy’s oversized, gloved hand. 

Henry couldn’t quite make out the exact words, but he was pretty sure the poor music director was babbling on about being given a second chance by his ‘lord.’ 

Once he caught sight of them, Edgar pulled ahead of the others to bounce around Henry, the teeth on the top of his head clacking rapidly. If Henry wasn’t mistaken, past those cruel stitches holding the toon’s mouth shut, a smile was struggling to form. Careful to avoid getting his hand nibbled, Henry patted Edgar on the head, immediately giving him some unseen signal to face-plant into the man’s leg. His teeth kept clacking. 

Charley and Barley stopped in front of him as well, though they were much calmer about it than their friend. Barley’s head kept swinging around, so Henry careful reached out and grabbed it, helping it settle down. 

“We’ll do something to fix you up,” he promised. Barley’s round, x-ed out eye blinked at him. 

Henry finally raised his head to look up at Bendy, who was staring back at him from two feet away. At least Sammy had quieted down. 

“Ready?” Henry asked. 

“Are you…”

He turned to face Alice, who was halfway cowering behind Norman, with Boris behind her. 

She took a deep breath and continued, “Are you really going to take us with you?” 

“Of course,” he said. “But we should probably shut the Ink Machine off first, so the Searchers can have their own peace.” 

Norman looked down at his hand, and after a few tries, managed to give Henry a thumbs up. 

“We’ll get you all settled in my van, and then I’ll do it myself. I can’t imagine any of you want to stay at all longer than necessary in here.”

Henry offered his hand to Edgar, who was fairly beaming up at him, stretching the stitches. He gladly took it. 

By the time Henry passed over the threshold of the exit, he was holding Edgar’s hand with his left, Alice’s hand with his right, with Boris clutching the back of his shirt, Norman somehow looming over him without stepping on anybody, Charley and Barley nearly getting underfoot with every other step but then avoiding a collision without fail, and Bendy trailing behind all of them, still dragging Sammy. 

Luckily, Henry’s van had just enough room for everyone. Sammy and the three Butchers were assigned the back, Edgar happily seating himself in Sammy’s lap. Norman, Boris, and Alice were given the middle row, with Norman in the middle as the tallest, so he had plenty of room to slouch and comfortably stretch his legs. Bendy, as the tallest of the toons— and also the one that at least three of the others were afraid of— would join Henry up front, getting the passenger seat to himself. 

Henry nodded, satisfied. “I’ll be right back,” he said. “Just everyone wait here, okay?” 

Once they’d all confirmed that they wouldn’t be going anywhere, he turned to make his way back into the studio. Halfway to the door, however, Bendy’s massive hand enclosed over his arm. 

Perhaps, not long ago, such a thing would have caused him great panic. Now, he merely looked up at the demon and asked, “What’s wrong?” 

Bendy shook his head and kept walking, gently tugging Henry after him. He didn’t struggle as Bendy led him through the hallways to the room with the Ink Machine. Once there, he pointed up inside the nozzle before stepping back and releasing Henry’s arm. 

Curious, Henry tried to look up into it without getting too close, wondering if perhaps something was stuck. In his peripheral vision, however, he saw Bendy start towards the control panel, and he quickly moved out of the way.

Bendy stopped. He pointed back at the nozzle, then at Henry, then at the controls. 

“I don’t know what you’re trying to tell me, bud,” Henry said, frowning slightly. It didn’t feel like Bendy was intending to cause him any harm, yet he obviously wanted to turn the Machine on with Henry standing in front of it.

Apparently getting frustrated, Bendy assumed a classic thinking pose, snapping his fingers after a few moments. He gestured Henry behind the Machine, where— tucked just out of sight unless you knew where to look— a very familiar wheelchair sat, a thick layer of dust covering it. 

“That’s Joey’s old wheelchair,” Henry said. “He hated that thing, had to start using it when he got real sick—”

Bendy snapped his fingers twice, jabbed a finger at the wheelchair and then at the Machine. 

It all clicked, then, like a final puzzle piece completing the picture. Remembering Joey’s tape— with all that nonsense talk about cheating death— Henry’s shoulders sagged. “Joey used the Ink Machine on himself, didn’t he. To try to get better.”  
  
With a nod, Bendy tried to herd Henry back towards the nozzle. 

“That doesn’t explain what _you’re_ doing, though,” he said, resisting. 

With a slight growl, Bendy quickly pointed between the wheelchair and Machine again, before switching over to Henry and the Machine. 

“You want to use it on me? But why?”

Henry, wheelchair. Wheelchair, Henry.

“Oh, you think I’m sick like Joey. Bendy, I’m just getting on in years. I’m still relatively healthy, considering my age. Besides, did it work for Joey?” 

Bendy nodded at first, but then shook his head, poking Henry’s chest, over his heart. 

Henry gently pushed his hand down. “No, Bendy. I’m not going to use the Machine on myself. It would never be worth the risk of everything going wrong, especially since I don’t even know what it would do.” 

With a final tap-tap to Henry’s chest, Bendy nodded slowly and stepped back. Watching him head for the doorway, Henry called out, “I’ll be right there, okay?”

Flashing Henry a thumbs up, Bendy left him alone. 

It was simple, in the end, to shut the Machine off. For good measure, Henry ripped some of the wiring inside of it out and stuffed it in a ventilation shaft down the hall, in case anyone else tried to get it going again. 

For the last time, Henry left the building and closed the door behind him. 

He was surprised to see that Bendy was only just getting into the van, when he had left more than five minutes before Henry. 

“You all right?” Henry asked him as he settled into the driver’s seat. 

Bendy nodded and held up three little plushes, one of himself, one of Alice, and one of Boris. 

 _That must have been why he only just got out before me_ , Henry thought, smiling at the grinning demon. 

“Well, everyone,” he said, looking into the rearview mirror to see the array of toons staring back at him. “Who’s ready to go home?”

Every last one of them, as though scripted or planned, gave him a thumbs up. 

“Then here we go,” he said. 

• • • • •

It took time, trial and error— _lots_ of trial and error— and patience, but Henry was gradually able to fix the toons up. Alice and the Butcher gang were easiest, requiring simple remodeling once Henry got the hang of working on a truly 3D surface. They were all fully restored by the end of the first month.

The most he could do for Sammy was give the man a more defined mouth than the gaping maw he already had, as well as something vaguely resembling eyes. He seemed happy enough with it, so Henry didn’t worry too much. 

Norman… unfortunately for him, there wasn’t much to be done at all. They somehow managed to get the speaker on his chest to work as a voice for him, but it was finicky more often than not. For a more reliable method of communication, Henry ordered some proper books that taught sign language, and they all spent at least an hour every night learning together in Henry’s living room. 

Bendy took the longest. There was a lot of ink that stubbornly clung to his head, but Henry refused to let that stop him. Of course, after he’d cleaned Bendy’s face off, he’d seen that the damage was far worse. The pie-cut eyes that had likely once been fully intact were faded to an extremely light gray. Using the excess ink— being that ordinary ink lacked the necessary life in it— Henry painstakingly re-outlined and filled them in to the last minuscule bit. There was no room for error on such an important part of a living toon’s body. 

In the end, though, Henry’s biggest accomplishment with healing Bendy was giving him his voice. 

By the three month mark, with their physical forms restored, the toons had been able to start the long and arduous process of healing mentally and emotionally as well. There were countless late nights for Henry as he helped them deal with horrible nightmares, random and traumatizing flashbacks, and the devastation of everything that had been done to them— along with the demons that haunted his own mind.

It was tiring, for everyone— but it was worth it for Henry to see them improve, day by day.

They were all lucky he lived far out of the way, giving them plenty of space and privacy to romp around in the backyard like the kids they were slowly revealing themselves to be. One of their current favorite games was to see who could goad Sammy into playing with them fastest. Today, Edgar— wrapped like a little monkey around Sammy’s leg— appeared to be winning. Henry laughed from his seat on the deck.

Bendy emerged from the house onto the back porch with a cup of tea. Henry smiled at him. It was something Bendy had done every day since their arrival and Henry had taught him how to work the kettle. Some days it was coffee, some days it was tea; Henry didn’t know how, but Bendy always seemed to know exactly what he needed. 

“Are you going to go play with them?” Henry asked as Bendy set the mug down on the table in front of him.

Bendy considered the group of toons racing around the expansive lawn. “Yes,” he decided. “How do you feel today?”

That was another thing he’d always do; ask Henry how he was feeling.

“Y’know what? I feel even better than yesterday. I thought I was going to have to make an appointment to get stronger medication for my joints, but they hardly hurt at all anymore. Perhaps the pills I have are finally working.” 

With a blinding grin, Bendy gave Henry’s shoulder a gentle squeeze— with his restored right hand— and said, “I’m so glad, Henry.” 

Bendy bounded down the deck’s stairs to the grass, thinking about the day Henry had saved them from the studio. Even after Henry gave him his voice, he had never asked why Bendy had been so insistent on using the Ink Machine on him. And so, Bendy had never told Henry how, in the incredibly short amount of time between Henry refusing to run from him anymore and Henry venturing back inside to shut the Machine down, Bendy had gotten _attached_. 

For the brief time he’d known Joey Drew, he’d hated the man. Everything his false Creator had said reeked of his lies and greed and selfishness. Killing Joey Drew while he was still weak from the— admittedly successful— ritual had been one of the best things Bendy had ever done.

Henry, his true Creator, had proved himself different in every way possible once Bendy had calmed down enough to give him a chance. That the man was old, and his body failing, hadn’t escaped his notice— hence, why he had tried to save Henry with the Machine. Though the man had refused at the time, Bendy wasn’t one to be deterred. Gathering a few plushes on his way, he’d tracked down an armful of inkwells filled to the brim with the living ink. 

There was more than one way to save a human’s fragile, mortal body. 

The first cup of coffee Bendy had put a bit of ink into, the man had noticed the taste being tainted but laughed it off as a side effect from his prolonged time spent practically inhaling the stuff in the studio. Within a few days, Henry had entirely stopped noticing the unnatural flavor, even when Bendy slowly began increasing the amount he gave him daily. 

The other toons approved— they had from the very start, when he’d just barely managed to beat Henry back to the van and hide the inkwells at Alice, Boris, and Norman’s feet. They wanted to save Henry, too. 

It was already doing its job; Henry had said he’d been feeling better and better for weeks now. 

Bendy knew that sooner or later, the man would catch on, either find the ink or realize that there was something more than pills healing his body. It wouldn’t matter, though; it was already too late to stop the effects. If he was able to continue adding more and more with every cup of coffee or tea, Bendy was sure the process would be complete within another month or so. 

After everything they’d been through, they deserved to keep their beloved Creator. He’d risked his life to appeal to them when they were still only monsters, he’d given them a home and a family, he’d given them the hope and peace that none of them had ever dared dreamt to have. 

Henry had restored their bodies; now, it was their turn to do the same.

**Author's Note:**

> See, guys— this is what happens sometimes when you comment. *wink wink, nudge nudge* I swear I don’t bite, but I can’t promise not to fic if you’re particularly inspiring. And you never know what might be a creative catalyst! (did— did you see what I did there? :D huh, did you?)
> 
> So yeah, basically, I cannot think of a better way to point out the power you guys have over me when you comment on my stuff than to gesture at this story. I write when I get marvelous comments, I even have proof now. I literally read that sentence and thought, “Whelp, there goes the rest of my evening, ‘cause that needs a fic.”


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